


Enthralled

by Crimson Frost (JadeDragonKnight)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Eli-sin-ing/kolesjoie, Late 1800s, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Sexy Times, brief scenes of violence/gore, enslavement
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:54:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23265022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeDragonKnight/pseuds/Crimson%20Frost
Summary: A failed bounty hunting job.  An eternal curse, and an eternal bond.  Now facing an eternity of servitude, Sans must adapt in order to survive under the iron grip of his new Master.  Learning the ways of nobility is hard enough, but treading the line of becoming a vampire in a world that hates and fears them may become too much to handle.  Based on the ideas presented by Eli-sin-ing/kolesjoie, with many creative liberties.
Relationships: Papyrus (Underfell)/Original Female Character, Papyrus/Sans (Underfell)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

The breeze was much like dawn; tapered, groggy, only noticeable through the pine needles it managed to stir, and yet promising of a greater gale with the coming of day. The snow remained blue in the shade of the towering pillars of evergreen. Elsewhere, pale golden rays encouraged the tiny diamonds in the white blanket to shine. One song bird, up before all the others, filled the air with its humming coo, mixing its voice to the harsh crunch of tramped snow. One skeleton was also up before anyone else. In fact, he didn’t sleep much at all that night.  


His boots sunk effortlessly into the snow. The real trouble was getting them to keep moving forward. He knew the road he walked on was the right one as it cut a straight, even line through the dense forest. However, the snow was untouched save for the occasional deer track that ventured across unawares. No one dared to come along this road. It showed how much he was unwanted, that he was trespassing. He reached behind for his crossbow while pulling the strap across his chest so that the weapon swung around to his front. The crossbow was armed with a silver tipped arrow, the point gleaming in the early morning light. He felt for the safety latch above the trigger. Still locked. It could stay that way for now. He didn’t need to shoot yet.  


After some time, the skeleton came to a castle at the end of the road. The castle stood where the sun was rising so that a pale glow seemed to come from it. Two spires rose on either side, one taller than the other but just as adorned with gargoyles and mosaic windows. All the windows on the castle were stained glass, but only the ones on the spires contained intricate designs. The rest had simpler shapes with some glass pieces being the size of a child. A stone bridge patched with snow lead up to a grand archway sealed tight with an iron clad wooden door. Below the bridge laid a body of frozen water making a full circle around the castle.  


“A moat?” the skeleton said aloud. “Man, this guy is old fashioned. Either that, or just paranoid.”  


He chuckled at his own joke, but seeing as there was no audience but himself, the laugh died down into a nervous sigh.  


“Well, if he is paranoid, he’ll be in the tallest spire. It’s the hardest place to get to. Lucky me.”  


As if to prove his theory, he spotted smoke rising out of the tallest spire as it twisted into nothing. The skeleton approached the castle, but avoided the bridge and instead followed the moat to the right. He scanned the walls of the castle until he found a window situated above some crumbling ledges. Weaving between these broken ledges, some being spaced out by six feet, would prove to be a challenging but doable climb. He stopped below this window, the moat between them. He crouched down and brushed the snow off the ice. It appeared solid, but a couple of knocks revealed a hollow sound, as though cold water lay just underneath.  


“Hmpt. Don’t wanna walk on this.”  


He focused on his reflection in the ice a moment. His black canvas pants and tan tunic were certainly not an intimidating sight, especially given his diminutive height, but the weapons lined along his belt could do all the talking for him. A six-inch knife at the hip, glass bulbs of holy water, crossbow bolts at his other side, and a wooden cross for good measure, not that he ever used it to pray. The black void of his eye sockets stood out the most from the rest of his white skull. Two white dots peered out from the black holes and darted around as the skeleton examined the rest of his face. He turned his head so that his pointed gold tooth stood prominent against the neatly rowed white teeth. He gave a smirk at this tooth, but frowned when he noticed the dark rings under his eyes, a couple of little shadows.  


“Ugh, I look like shit,” he grumbled as he rubbed a bony finger over one of the rings. He growled and smacked his cheek bone. “Get ahold of yourself! It’s just a vampire! You’ve dealt with worse. Besides, it’s morning. He should be asleep right now, or at least going to sleep. You’ve got the advantage… eh, sort of.”  


Done listening to his own pep talk, the skeleton stood up and walked toward the forest away from the castle while he swung the crossbow back behind him. He stopped, turned back toward the castle, and exhaled through his teeth. Then, he charged at the moat and stiffened his legs right as he touched the ice, effectively sliding across to the castle. He caught his impact on the wall with a grunt. He looked over his shoulder to see the two bare lines he made in the snow, and one crack going through them and disappearing under the untouched snow. A brief chortle came out of him.  


Starting with a hand on the lowest ledge, he began climbing up through the gaps towards the window. Each of his hand and foot holds were precise and calculated. It didn’t take long before he reached the mosaic window, yet he arrived winded. He chose the ledge to the left of the window to sit on and catch his breath, making a mental note not to look down. He unsheathed his knife and began chipping at the lead strips surrounding a panel half his size. The sun had begun to peek around the castle when he had finished. First replacing his knife, he lifted the panel out of place and set it next to him on the ledge. Next, he crawled through the opening and lowered his arms to the floor to catch himself. His bones clacked against the stone floor, making him freeze and listen hard for any movement from inside the castle. Hearing nothing, he proceeded to enter, reach through the opening, and put the panel back, leaving it to balance itself.  


The inside of the castle was veiled in shadows. The skeleton stood in the only square of light in the room. He could just see the door directly ahead of him, looming in darkness. Beyond it laid the point of no return. There waited a slumbering beast that may very well be his demise. The light he stood in provided an empty promise of safety, the warm sun rays on his back like the whisperings of a silver-tongued demon. He swung the crossbow around into his hands and clicked the safety latch off.

* * *

An empty cathedral. The skeleton has only ever been in one, but that’s what this place felt like. His boots made soft thuds, yet the sound was amplified by the stone walls. It was a hollow echo, no more than a repetitive drone as though the dark corridors were devouring the sound. Heavy curtains adorned with gold patterns smothered the morning light streaming from the mosaic windows, only allowing kaleidoscope stripes to escape. The sheer size of the castle’s interior exuded welcome to innumerable guests, but in its emptiness the castle instead provided a forlorn song, a groan made from the wind brushing its exterior. And like a cathedral, a presence is felt even in vacancy. The Lord Almighty always tends to His house, watching over its guests. Except God wasn’t here, not in this place. Another was lord here.  


The skeleton made his way up the main staircase, through the shadowed corridors, and up the spiral staircase inside the largest spire. This trek was like walking on eternity. He had never listened so hard, stared so far into the dark, breathed so softly, or tread so lightly in his life. He almost hoped that the vampire would surprise him around the next corner, just to end the anxiety sooner. Every precaution was necessary as he had one chance to strike first, and if he failed, no one was coming to save him.  


He felt the wall of the staircase as he ascended as the only light came in short bursts when passing a window. After some time, a different light came into view. A deep orange flickering light came from underneath a wooden door at the end of the stairs. The skeleton rested his hand on the iron latch for a moment, partly to listen for movement and partly to steady his breath. A thought came to mind that he could still turn back, look for an easier job and live for another day. He pushed it aside as he pushed open the door. His eyes went right for the movement of the crackling fire. It cast its orange light over the room, illuminating the bed and the bulge under its sheets. He could make out the rounded indent on the pillow, judging where the occupant’s head was. He dared not move closer and instead raised his crossbow. The fire light made the shadows dance, so he studied his target until he knew that his aim would be true. Breathing out in a whisper, he applied pressure to the trigger.  


The crossbow clunked with a sound that broke the spell in the air. With this shot, the skeleton was no longer invisible. He lowered the weapon to see a splash of blood on the bed frame emitting from the bolt’s position. Just about anything would die from a head shot, but a vampire could still survive. He approached the bed and ripped away the sheets. Underneath laid an adult human male, curled up and soundly asleep, at least until a bolt entered his brain and took his life. The skeleton grew wide eyed and stepped back.  


“Shit! That was supposed to be a monster!”  


His hands were shaking as he put the crossbow head on the ground, stepped on the stirrup, and strained to pull the cord back over the nut and lock it. Just as he was yanking another bolt out of his holster, he felt eyes on his back. He froze and took a deep breath. In one motion, he loaded the bolt and whirred around already aiming through the sight. A tall, dark figure stood at the end of the sight, and yet he couldn’t pull the trigger as much as he strained against it. It took a second to realize that it wasn’t the trigger that was stuck, it was him. The skeleton’s arms lowered the weapon on their own and he found himself staring into the figure’s glowing crimson eyes. They looked like fire surrounded by shadow; mesmerizing and terrible.  


“ _Good_ ,” a voice in his head spoke. “ _Now I have you_.”  


His instincts told him to make a run for the door, but his body refused to move forward. He could only manage to step back, one painful step at a time, and the figure followed glaring at his eyes all the while.  


“ _Who are you?_ ”  


The truth flew from his mouth before he could suppress it.  


“Sans.”  


“ _Why are you here?_ ”  


“To kill you for the reward.”  


“ _Ah, a bounty hunter. And you thought you could kill me on your own?_ ”  


“Yes.”  


“ _Pathetic. Either you are desperate for the money, or you are a fool_.”  


Sans could feel his back against the bed. The vampire stood just two steps away, blocking his escape.  


“ _Who sent you?_ ”  


“Father Thomas.”  


“ _That snake_ ,” the voice hissed, the sound echoing in his mind. “ _How much is my head worth to that priest?_ ”  


“1,000G.”  


“ _Ha! How petty for a man of the church to offer pocket change to purify this land. For a reward that low, you must have expected an easy kill. No one else would have dared come into my own home in hopes to kill me while I slept. I suppose that makes you foolish_.”  


Sans fought against his invisible bonds to no avail. The figure leaned down to him, the firelight revealing a white skull and a sharp toothed grin.  


“ _So tell me bounty hunter, in your whole career, have you ever made your peace with death?_ ”  


Sans’s body began to shake in his effort to move, causing his bones to rattle. The skeleton vampire seemed pleased with his fear and parted his teeth with a hiss. In his desperation, Sans tried to scream but no sound came from his mouth. Instead, it stayed trapped in his mind, and yet the vampire’s eye twitched. Sans made his mental scream ear piercing. The vampire cried out in pain and recoiled, holding his skull. Suddenly, feeling came back to Sans and his limbs obeyed him.  


He bolted for the door, swinging his weapon behind him. Darkness enveloped him, but he had no time to get lost in it. Sans flew down the spiral stairs, reaching his arms out to either wall to catch his missteps. The stairwell erupted with footfalls, a sharp contrast to the previous silence Sans tried so hard to keep. At the end of the stairs, Sans careened through the archway, stumbling with dizziness at first but quickly picking up speed into a full sprint down the corridor. He dared not stop to look back, though he didn’t need to. The sliver of curiosity was quelled by the sound of pounding steps catching up to him. Sans could see the branching main stairway ahead of him. He charged at it and jumped over the stairs towards the center landing. Mid-air, he grabbed his crossbow with one hand and held the other out at the fast approaching floor. He did a roll upon hitting the ground, and in a kneeled position aimed his crossbow at the corridor he came from. There was empty space past the sight. Sans listened hard through his heavy breathing, but heard no movement. A chill ran up his spine. Sans stood, whipped around, and shot at the hand coming towards him. The bolt caught the hand and carried it into the stone wall where it stuck. Sans swallowed hard, frozen in place watching the surprised vampire. The tall skeleton examined the stub where his hand should be, looked back at the bolt in the wall, and turned to glare at Sans.  


“Uh, that’ll pop right back on. Trust me,” Sans said, trying to keep his voice from shaking.  


The vampire’s red eyes flared, then the hand with the bolt flew back into place on his arm. He then ripped the bolt out, causing him to wince. The cuts in his hand began to bleed, dripping onto the floor. He clenched his fist and loomed closer to Sans who backed up in turn.  


“Heh, ok, no more crossbow,” Sans said, flipping the weapon behind him and showing his hands. “See? All good?”  


Suddenly, Sans backed into the banister and flipped over it. He landed on his feet and made a mad dash to the room he entered in from. He thought he had caught the vampire off guard with that maneuver, but a black mist surrounded him and caught his throat in a choke hold. Sans was lifted off the ground as the mist solidified into the vampire.  


“I’m done playing with you,” the red eyed skeleton growled.  


Sans felt for a glass bulb at his side and unhooked its string.  


“Did you really think you could—?”  


Sans cut the vampire off with one good swing of the bulb, smashing the glass on his skull and covering him with holy water. The vampire leered at Sans. Then, his skull began to steam and sizzle. The tall skeleton howled in fury and threw Sans across the room. Sans rolled out of his fall and was that much closer to his exit. In moments, he entered the room, slammed the door shut, and barricaded it by toppling the nearest bookshelf in front of it. He then grabbed his crossbow and used its tiller to smash open the glass he had carefully removed before. As he climbed through the opening, he saw a red light emitting from the crack around the door. A deep hum came from the other side of the door, and it was growing louder. Not waiting around for whatever that was, he clambered out through the window and began making his way down the castle wall. In the next moment, a red beam of light shot out of the window, shattering the glass and leaving a roll of thunder in its wake. Sans couldn’t hear himself, but screaming ‘Holy shit!’ still felt necessary. When the glass stopped raining down on him, he picked up the speed of his climbing, so much so that he was being less picky about which holds to grab. The moment he weighed his foot on one ledge to reach for another was the moment it crumbled under him. Sans cried out as he fell before smashing through the ice of the moat.  


The cold water hit him in an instant, making his joints lock up. Water rushed into his skull and ribcage. Panic swept through him as one fact engrossed his mind: he couldn’t swim. Sans swung his arms and kicked his legs in the swimming motion that he was taught, but it was no use. The water just slipped between the gaps in his bones, and his clothing and gear were only dragging him down. He felt weightless as though he was thrashing fruitlessly in a dream. His skull burned, needing air. Light flickered above him, the morning rays distorted by the broken ice and shifting water. That light grew farther away though he reached out to try to grab it.  


“ _Damn it!_ ” his mind screamed. “ _I can't die like this!_ ”  


Sans clawed and kicked the water as though trying to fight off the very thing that was causing his head, and now his chest, to burn. Though he was not sinking fast, he felt himself descending into a black pit, the darkness reaching up to crush him in its grip before dragging him down to nothingness. He struggled against this unseen foe as the last of his air was being strangled out of him in clouds of bubbles. Sans gazed up at the light above him, shimmering ever further away. He pleaded for air, for help, for life.  


A black shadow suddenly blocked the light. The shadow crashed through the ice and entered the water behind a curtain of tiny bubbles. As the bubbles floated up and away, Sans could make out the figure of the vampire. Their eyes met, and the vampire dived down towards Sans. Though drowning terrified him, it was better than whatever this vampire had planned for him. He drew his knife, his movements stunted by the cold water. Before he could take a swing, the vampire gripped his arms and pried them aside. He struggled, but it was as successful as trying to bend an iron rail. The vampire’s jaws gaped open as he lunged at his neck. Sans gave a gurgled scream, feeling the vampire’s fangs pierce his vertebra. A wave of numbness spread through him, so numb that he could no longer feel the cold or the burn. His knife slipped out of his hand and sank into the dark depths. His body confused, he tried to breath which made him swallow more water. The vampire leaned back so that their eyes met again and clamped his bleeding hand over Sans’s mouth, filling it with the taste of copper. The vampire seemed to shift and blur like the light above him. Darkness began closing in, making everything seem far away. The last thing Sans felt was a pulse surging through his body, then it all went black.

* * *

He had heard tales spoken by those brought out of the brink of death. Some had seen a light that beckoned to them. Others had seen loved ones that had been dead. Sans never really understood these stories, but the closest experience he had were his dreams of dying. That was how his mind interpreted the sensations he was feeling now; only a dream.  


When the darkness came over him, there was a moment when all his senses gave way to oblivion. His body tingled. Breathing stopped. Weightlessness seized as he had no concept of his own presence in space. The black behaved like a blanket suffocating him. No drifting. Just locked in an unshakable grip.  


Then, relief. His chest had suddenly felt lighter. The drifting returned. At this point of his dreaming, he would wake up and take in his surroundings to get his bearings. But this time lethargy oozed over him like honey. A sweet suggestion to continue sleeping, but sticky and gradually enveloping him in more numb darkness. Whether it was his eyes cracking open or his sheer mental will to see something through the dark, soft white light crept into his sight. Movement caught his attention amidst the white. Two long shapes were swinging back and forth. A faint crunch followed at the crest of each shape’s swing. After some time, he identified the shapes as legs, but they weren't his as they were perpendicular to him and moving without his command. He became aware of hands suspending him, one under his bent knees, the other holding his ribcage just below his arm. He could only watch a short time as his lethargy coaxed him back into the darkness.  


It took time, how much he could not tell, but his oblivion chipped away in increments. Sans felt warm. He could feel his chest rising and falling with ease. The darkness went from a blanket to a fog, allowing some distant light to pierce his senses. He twitched a finger, sending a tingling wave up his arm. He took a deep breath and cracked open his eyes. A blur of deep colors greeted him. He closed his eyes and groaned as he moved his whole body, attempting to wake it up. His arms and legs brushed against fabric, at least he could tell by the sound. He tried opening his eyes again and this time he could distinguish the shapes. Carved wood designs adorned with gold leaf. Burgundy curtains held up by four posts. He hummed in confusion, unable to speak yet. He looked down at his body to find it covered by a silk blanket. It dawned on him that he was in a bed, and later still did he comprehend where that bed was.  


Sans jolted up and scanned the room. Hand carved furniture, gold embroidered curtains, stained glass window peeking through the curtains, a heavy wooden door beyond him.  


“Shit, I’m still here?”  


His voice was groggy, but it found strength the more he stressed it.  


“But wait, I thought I left. Or, I fell… I thought I was dead.”  


He reached back into the fog in his mind and searched for the answers to his questions. He could dimly make out a priest handing him bulbs of holy water and crossing the air in front of him. The name Father Thomas came to mind, as well as gold coins in a bundle of cloth as an advance payment. Then the night at the inn flashed by, skipping through the hours of tossing and turning. The castle seemed a blur of events to the point that he couldn’t tell if he had struck or fled first. But one memory cleared the fog. He had fallen into the moat, and the vampire followed him in. And if he was in the castle again, then the vampire knew it.  


Fear tingled down his limbs like a static shock. Sans instinctively felt his chest for the strap to his crossbow, but he grabbed a handful of pillowy fabric instead. He looked down to find his shirt had changed from a rough tunic to a ruffled angular neckline, exposing his collar bone and upper sternum, and his arms were covered with sleeves. Sans threw the blanket aside, and to his shock found himself clothed in a dress ending at his ankles with added layers of ruffles.  


“What the hell am I wearing?!”  


He could not find any of his old clothing or gear on his person, and none hiding under the ruffles in his dress considering the lack of weight his weapons typically pressed on him. Panic welled up in his ribcage like a pot ready to boil over, but he suppressed it.  


Sans took a deep breath and after exhaling said, “Ok, calm down. You don’t have your weapons, but you can’t lose your wits too. It’s obvious that he brought me back, and I’m not dead, so he has to come back to check on me. And I won’t be here to check on.”  


He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and slid down to the floor. As he shifted his weight off the mattress and onto his feet, a haze clouded his vision and his head grew light. He caught himself on one of the bed posts and struggled to keep his knees from buckling. After some time, the haze drew back and he became fully aware of the weakness in his body, knowing he was one misstep away from becoming a crumbled heap of bones on the floor.  


“Ok, no running,” he relented. “And I can’t fight him without my gear. Damn it.”  


Sans scanned the room hoping to find his weapons neatly placed nearby for his convenience, or perhaps that was his fear talking. Instead his eyes arrested on a gold candelabra on a dresser by the door. With one slow step at a time, he made his way over to the dresser. He plucked the candlesticks off the arms and took the bare metal into his hands. It was heavy like an axe and felt somewhat satisfying to hold as though it was one.  


“Knock him out, then run. That’s a good plan. I like that plan.” Sans shook his head and said, “It’s a shit plan, but it’s all I got!”  


He positioned himself by the hinged side of the door. He would use the opening door as a blind spot and swing his make-shift weapon around it to strike down the vampire. Though thinking back to their relative heights, he would either have to swing high or strike more than once, and one shot may be all he gets. He lifted the candelabra as high as his weak body could manage, which was about eye level. He shook his head and chuckled at the hopelessness of his objective. It would take a sudden great burst of energy to meet his mark and flee from the castle. Making it back to town in his condition would need nothing short of a miracle.  


A sound from outside the door wretched his attention from his thoughts. Footsteps, but they were far off and echoing towards the room from the side. A long hallway, meaning the room was not in one of the spires and was therefore closer to the ground floor. The thought gave Sans some courage. He pressed himself flat to the wall and listened. The footsteps steadily drew closer. His hands tightened around the handle of his bludgeon. He took long, quiet breaths, stifling his mounting fear as he lengthened each inhale. At the last, he exhaled all his air and became motionless. His body tensed into a coiled spring, each joint ready to fire in unison. The footsteps stopped at the door and the handle turned. With a creak, the door swung open. In one movement, Sans leapt from the wall and swung the candelabra with more strength and height than he ever thought he could manage. The blow landed, but there was no kick back as though it had snagged on something. He tried to pull his weapon back to him to swing again, but it didn’t budge. Then, the candelabra pulled him up off the ground. Sans suddenly met eyes with the vampire. The monster had caught his attack and was holding the candelabra up with Sans still clinging to it. Sans grimaced, knowing this was his final error.  


The vampire examined him, starting from his dangling feet up to his face. "Hmm, you look quite good in that,” he stated with a grin.  


Sans caught the choke in his throat. He had been so bound up with anxiety and his brace for a swift blow that it all wanted out in one scream. But the vampire seemed to want to drag his doom out further.  


"Tch. Do you always play with your food?" Sans asked.  


"On occasion, but don't worry. You're not my taste."  


They stared each other in the eye. Sans could not find any intent to act from the vampire, but he was reluctant to give up his only means of defense. The vampire seemed unburdened by his weight and could hold him there as long as need be. Sans’s arms were not as willing as weakness returned to them in full force. Sans relented. He let go of the candelabra and dropped to the floor. He took a few paces back to distance himself, watching the vampire all the while. The vampire lowered his arm and closed the door behind him. Sans shuttered, remembering his use of the word ‘taste,’ but decided he had to humor his captor for now.  


"But dresses are, apparently,” Sans stated dryly.  


The vampire walked over to the dresser and replaced the candlestick. "I figured you would appreciate dry clothes."  


"Not if that involves taking my weapons… and dignity."  


A breathed chuckle came from the tall skeleton. Sans frowned, not intending to remark his helplessness as a joke. He studied his captor. The vampire was dressed much like a nobleman. He wore a wide collared jacket that hung to the floor, though the ends were in tatters. The trousers and waistcoat were pressed with clean creases. A red cravat adorned his neck, the silk catching the faint glow from the window. The black leather shoes also shone faintly, having been recently polished. His gloves were red, the tips stained with blotches of dark blood. Sans swallowed hard, feeling as if he could smell the blood.  


"Why haven't you killed me yet?" Sans asked.  


"I had to take care of the mess you made." The vampire took off his gloves and put them aside on the dresser. "Honestly, killing an innocent is just sloppy for a bounty hunter."  


Sans was taken aback, but assured himself that anyone could recognize a bounty hunter from their gear. He steeled himself.  


"Answer the question."  


"Now why would I kill you after going through the trouble to save you?"  


"Save me?"  


"You were drowning, Sans."  


That caught him off guard. Knowing one's name is to have power over them. A doubt rose in his mind that his enemy already knew everything about him, and he was completely vulnerable.  


"Wha- how did you-?"  


"You told me. Maybe the lack of air has affected your memory."  


"No, no. I tried to kill you. You had no reason to save me unless you wanted to do something to me. So, why haven't you done it yet?"  


The vampire chuckled. “I already did."  


Sans stared back in confusion. As an answer, the vampire tapped one of his long fangs. Sans found a mirror in his peripheral vision. Without taking his eyes off the red eyed skeleton, he stepped back a few more paces to line himself up with the mirror’s reflection. He couldn’t look at himself and the vampire at the same time, but a smirk from his captor told him that he could look away for a moment. Sans quickly turned to the mirror, only intending to glance at himself, but he froze in shock. His eye lights were blazing red just like the vampire’s. His teeth were pointed, his right canine being the longest and matching the sharpness of his gold tooth standing in for his left canine. He felt a hand grab his face, its thumb slipping between his teeth and forcing his mouth to gap open. The vampire had approached him soundlessly and was examining him again.  


"Your fangs are coming in quite nicely. And a good thing too. That waste of gold was bothering me."  


Sans slapped his hand away and took a step back.  


"What the hell did you do to me?!" he demanded.  


"Turned you, of course,” his enemy said with a sneer. “No one has ever been as brazen as you. Coming into my domain to kill me, and almost getting away. The irony of you becoming your quarry was just too delicious to pass up."  


"You turned me... for fun?" Sans said lowly.  


"Oh, it gets better.” The vampire leaned down and continued softly as though imparting a secret. “My blood courses through you, binding you to me. You are now my eternal thrall, and you belong only to me."  


Heat rose into Sans’s skull. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "To hell with that. I'm no one's slave, especially not yours."  


Sans tried to walk past the tall skeleton towards the door, but he grabbed his wrist and pulled him back to look him in the eye. Sans tried to wrench his arm free, but it felt like he was shackled to the wall.  


"Leaving in your condition?” the vampire asked, a hum in his voice. “You've just become a vampire, and a lesser one at that. Your powers are weaker. Silver could easily kill you. You'd be useless without me."  


His captor made Sans back up, a firm pressure that he couldn’t resist. He could feel the bed press against his back.  


"You can't keep me here," Sans growled, trying to keep his voice from shaking.  


"I can, because you're mine now. Although, I've never had a servant as disrespectful as you. Perhaps I should mark you to remind you of your place."  


The vampire brushed his free hand against Sans’s neck before drawing close. The hot breath on his neck made Sans flinch and his eyes go wide in shock. He was going to bite him again, if not to kill then to harm.  


"Wait, no!"  


An even greater shock surged through him when he felt not fangs but a tongue slide slowly across his vertebra. In that moment, the picture in his mind changed. What he saw before was a failed bounty job, an eternal curse, enslavement, maybe torture. Now all the things he saw meant something else. The bedroom, the dress, weaponless, weak, bound forever. He wasn’t just a thrall. To this vampire, he was a bitch. Sans went cold. The weakness in his body that he had been fighting back washed through him and left him numb and shaking. He could feel himself falling back against the bed, unable to stand against his predator. He gazed up in blank terror at the vampire’s smiling face, an expression so collected in his control. The taller skeleton pushed against him, helping Sans up onto the bed, and in the process began to remove his jacket.  


"W-what are you going to do?" Sans asked, though he knew the answer. The question came just short of begging for mercy.  


"Anything I want, really,” the vampire replied coolly. “I could even kill you, but I'm a merciful person on my good days. So, you don't like the dress? Maybe I should remove it."  


"P-Please, don't…"  


Sans couldn’t find the strength to wrench himself away, only getting as far as lying flat on his back, holding his hands above his chest in meek defense. He turned his head away and shut his eyes. He wanted the darkness to take him, swallow him whole, rescue him from this. He had to be sleeping. It was a nightmare. Any moment now, the fear coursing through him will force him to wake, and he’ll sit up in bed at the inn, breathing hard but untouched, and he’ll return the money to the priest and find work elsewhere. But the weight pressing down on his body and the warm breath brushing the side of his skull pulled him out of the dark void. This was reality, and there was no escape.  


The voice of the vampire hummed, "So 'bounty hunter,' who are you going to serve?"  


Admitting his submission would be the final defeat, but the part of his mind desperately seeking some thread of hope clung onto the idea that the question was an out, or at least a way to make what was coming next less painful. He swallowed the knot in his throat.  


"Y-you. I belong to you from now on, M-Master."  


"Atta boy," the vampire breathed, a thrill of pleasure in his tone.  


Sans shivered and suddenly felt sick.  


Just then, the weight was gone and off the bed. Sans heard the rustling of fabric being picked up from the floor.  


"Now rest up. You need the energy to go hunting."  


The spell on Sans seemed to break, and he could move again. He jolted up and just barely caught sight of the door closing behind the tail of the vampire’s cloak. Silence fell over the room. He blinked a few times, not comprehending what just happened. He noticed that he was holding his breath. He gasped for air and grabbed a handful of ruffles on his chest. His shoulders were shuddering, and he made pains to steady himself. The vampire was gone, for now. And the command was to rest, so he would not be disturbed. At least he hoped so.  


After a moment of listening to the silence, Sans crawled under the covers, clinging tightly to the soft fabric as if it was about to be torn away from him. The numbing terror fell away in increments, but a pang remained in his chest and skull. He groaned in dismay.  


“I fucking hate his smug ass face,” he said, hoping the fires of anger would burn away his chilling fear. “Why did that asshole bother to save me anyway? To hell would I be able to make a suitable vampire thrall?”  


Feeling his remaining anxiety refuse to dissipate, Sans sighed heavily, letting go of his feeble attempt at contempt.  


“What did I get myself into?”  


It took quite some time before the silence worked its calming effects on him. He stared at the colored stripe of light cast along the floor and making its way up the wall. Bird chirps came faintly through the window. His breath became even, and his eyes felt heavy. He turned in bed, his body more relaxed and his hands uncurling from the sheet. His tired gaze fell on a figure sitting on the nightstand. It sat on the edge of the table like a cat sitting on its haunches. His eyes traced the claws, long barbed tail, and neck of a dragon skeleton. It was a miniature wyvern to be exact, as the wings acting as the forelimbs testified. A red translucent material bridged the gap between the thin fingers, and it seemed to shift and swirl in the light like milk mixing with tea. Two red eye lights shown out from the long skull like jewels and seemed to be looking at him.  


“Freaky statue…” Sans murmured, his voice quieted by his drowsiness.  


His eyes continued to scan the dragon figure until it blurred out of focus. A fog drifted over his mind, and he fell into deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this snippet of a planned to be enormous work. Credit for the original concept goes to Eli-sin-ing/kolesjoie and their kinktober vampire comic. As far as I am aware, the original work has been lost. I only have my own incomplete copies to reference. What started as a curious fascination of the comics became a full blown story and world in my own head. So if no one minds, I am going to take the original concept and go nuts with it. This means I will be changing some existing details from the original comics to fit in with my own head cannon. Some details will be "wrong" as a result. If you liked what you read so far, I hope you will stick around and keep an open mind. The work is far from completed. I will write and post new chapters when I can. Thank you for your time and support!


	2. Chapter 2

The sliver of light cast into the room was burning deeper colors when Sans next awoke. He stretched his limbs and yawned aloud. The weakness in his body had ebbed away in his slumber. He found his mind had cleared, no longer bogged down by racing thoughts and emotions. Sans sat up in bed and rubbed the back of his neck. His eyes drifted over to the nightstand, looking for the figure that he last saw before falling asleep. Nothing adorned the furniture to his surprise. He scanned the room for the dragon statue but found it nowhere.  


“Huh. Maybe I imagined it?” Sans said.  


Not allowing concern to enter his mind just yet, Sans dismissed the statue and slid out of bed. His legs no longer felt that they were about to buckle, so he walked over to the tall mirror in the far corner of the room. He grimaced at his reflection. His teeth had become jagged and sharp. He titled his head around, opening and closing his mouth as he examined his fangs from all angles. Besides his now red eyes, the teeth had become the most prominent feature on his face.  


“Geez. Anyone would recognize me as a vampire with these pearly whites. Can’t just stroll into town like this.”  


He focused on his gold tooth. He bared his fangs to make it stand out, then he grinned.  


“Well, it’s not so bad, I guess. They do match a bit better now.”  


His comment recalled the vampire’s condescending words into mind, and with it the memory that he was serving a new master. Sans frowned at the reminder. As much as he hated the idea, he would have to stay on his master’s good side for now— at least until he could find a way to escape. Though there was no escape from the curse.  


“Asshole,” he breathed, burning at the thought that his captor turned him as a sick joke.  


Wanting to find something to distract him from his situation, Sans glanced down at the dress he wore. Its ruffles were bunched in places and wrinkled. Perhaps sleeping in it had been a bad idea. However, it did give him an excuse to change clothes. Sans’s mood perked up at the possibility of wearing men’s clothes again, so he began to search the dresser and closet for suitable attire. It quickly became apparent that the room he was in must have been a woman’s. He could only find more dresses and other female under-garments. His groan bounced off the stone walls, and he rubbed a bony hand over his skull, making a slight scraping noise. The thought occurred to him that his master might want him in a dress since he had put him in one to begin with. It could be insubordination to wear something else, and he still had no idea how to combat the vampire should it come to physical confrontation. So, Sans swallowed his pride and searched through the clothes again, looking for a dress much less frilly than the one he was wearing. While none of the options seemed appealing given his demeanor towards female attire, he kept returning to the same green, long sleeved dress. Perhaps it was the pleated waist coat torso and collared neck that attracted his attention. The more masculine the silhouette the better, and right now he would take what he could get.  


It proved a simple feat to discard the old dress and slip on the new one, like exchanging long shirts. Sans examined himself in the mirror. The dress fit well and filled out his bony frame, almost like he had flesh. However, the sleeves restricted his arm movement, so he rolled them up past his elbows. A bit of a working man’s touch to the look made it all the better, and practical as well. He caught himself smirking in approval and blushed. It didn't matter how good he looked, a man in women's clothes is just embarrassing. He quickly turned his attention to finding shoes. After digging through the closet, he was pleasantly surprised to find a pair of Oxford shoes, dual colored black and white leather. The slight height in the heel distinguished them as more feminine, but in Sans's mind they were close enough to male shoes for him. He laced up and gently tapped each toe on the stone floor to set them right. They weren't his boots, but at least they were comfortable.  


Satisfied with his selection, Sans wondered what to do next. He wasn't keen on reporting to his master yet, nor did he like the idea of waiting to be called on. Sans recalled his master had said something about a hunt prior to leaving him. What exactly did he mean by that? Peasants hunt for food, nobles hunt for sport. Which did his master mean? If it was for sport, fine. Sans was good with a crossbow and riding horseback. Though his master may not be giving him a weapon seeing as he went through the trouble of making him weaponless. If they were hunting for food… Sans didn't want to think about it. Although, getting some grub did sound appealing. Deciding to not wait around for his master, Sans left the bedroom, closing the door carefully behind him so as to not make noise.  


The hallway loomed dark before him, though it strangely did not feel intimidating like it did before. The darkness seemed to be a comfort, concealing him from threats rather than it concealing the threats from him. Sans found the change in mood odd, but he chalked it up to the thin stripes of evening light cast upon the floors making him feel warmer. He started off down the hall toward where he assumed the center staircase was. If there was any food in this castle, it would be kept in a cellar on the lowest level to keep the food cool. The best place to start looking for an access point to the lowest level was on the main floor. Sans grinned at the sight of the floor dropping off, signaling that his guess as to the direction of the main staircase was correct.  


After descending the stairs, Sans was dismayed to find quite a selection of doors to choose from. He recognized one to his right as being the room he had entered from— and later fell out of. The hole where the door used to be told him such. Out of curiosity, he went up to the room to examine the damage. Splinters and other chunks of wood littered the ground, and he thanked the stars that whatever that beam of light was didn't hit him directly. The bookshelf he had used to barricade the door had reverted to mulch. There were shards of glass where the mosaic window used to be. Late evening sky poured into the room from the bare window arch. Watching his footing on the splinters and glass pieces, Sans made his way to the window and looked out on the snow-covered forest below. The sun was close to setting, casting its orange light on the land. The snow made the world look silent and still. He could hear the occasional bird chirping. He breathed in the cold winter air and exhaled a cloud that curled away into nothing.  


It had been a long time since he saw a view like this. Between hunting for jobs and hunting period, he rarely had time to take a moment like this. But then, he was not a bounty hunter anymore. He was a vampire thrall, and being a vampire meant avoiding sunlight. This view might be the last time he would get a good look of the world bathed in the light of day. Sans sighed, took his hands from the window ledge, and left the room.  


He readjusted himself to the dark castle and refocused on the task at hand: finding food. He crossed the open floor to the doors opposite from him. He went to open the first door but paused when he heard the faint crackle of a fire. A tingle of fear went up his spine. No reason to light a fire if no one is in the room, so that meant the only other somebody in the castle was occupying that room. Sans backed up slowly, creeping up to the next door along the wall. He cracked the door open and peeked inside. It was a long room with an enormous chandelier hanging from the ceiling, faintly glinting in the dark. He could make out a row of chairs, and seeing as they weren't occupied, Sans quickly shimmied through the door opening and shut it so quietly that only the latch clicking could be heard. He paused, listening hard for movement. Only silence. He breathed a near-silent sigh of relief.  


Sans looked around the room he was in. Large windows lined the highest part of the left wall. Sans figured the room on the other side of that wall only came up so high and thus allowed for the few windows that graced that room. As they were not covered by curtains, evening light streamed through them. He watched the dust particles float through the light, like snow drifting in the breeze. Sans walked forward, his footsteps muffled by the dazzlingly-patterned ornate rug spanning the length of the room. The table in the center of the room equaled the grandness of the rug, lined with numerous cushioned chairs. Sans could spend all day admiring the craftsmanship of the wooden piece with its hand carved leaves, elegant swirls, and vein like gold settings. However intolerable his master was, Sans admitted that he certainly had good taste.  


As he came to the end of the table, Sans noticed a door in the back-right corner of the room. He beamed, drawing the conclusion that the only sensible room to be adjacent to a dining room was the kitchen. The sight that greeted him upon entering confirmed his theory. The room was the darkest thus far, having no windows, but strangely Sans did not have any trouble seeing. What caught his eye immediately were the items lining the pantry shelf in the back. Sans left the door open behind him and crossed the room. Before he even reached the shelf, he set his sights on a dark glass bottle and picked it up as soon as he arrived. He uncorked it and took a whiff. The sharp fragrance of fermented grapes sent a jolt through his skull.  


Sans gave a laugh in delight and said, “Man, I haven't had wine in ages!”  


He tipped the glass, taking gulps of wine and savoring the warmth spreading inside him. He pulled the bottle away with a contented sigh and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.  


“Damn, that's good shit.”  


He was about to take another swig, but a pang from inside stopped him. While the suddenness was disconcerting, he assumed it was a pang of hunger and searched the pantry for something to eat. A wicker basket on the floor in front of it seemed promising. He slid his hand under the lid and rooted around until he grabbed a hold of a round object. He pulled out a red skinned onion. He smelled it then took a bite. It was crisp, juicy, and had a flavor so bold that it would make the casual onion connoisseur wince. Sans smiled even wider.  


“Wine and fresh onions? Now I'm spoiled. Wonder if he has any cheese?”  


Sans set the wine bottle down before he began searching the shelves for a cheese wedge. He took another bite of the onion as he looked, and in that instant he felt another pang, this time like a spear to the back of his skull. He lurched over and groaned, feeling his insides churn.  


“Ok, maybe the onion wasn't so fresh.”  


He began to salivate, and in the next moment he wretched. Wine and chunks of pulverized onion splattered onto the stone floor. Sans coughed, mauve spit dribbling from his teeth. He stared at the puddle as he shoved down the thought that was invading his mind like a torrent.  


“No, it's not true.”  


He gorged on the onion, forcing half chewed bits down his throat. Nausea surged through him and the onion came back up. He grabbed the wine bottle and practically inhaled its contents, but no sooner than he did that the wine was rejected onto the floor. His breath quick, his body in pain, and his mind at war, he scoured the shelves for something he could keep down.  


“Hungry?”  


Sans yelped at the voice and whirled around. He stared back at the fiery red gaze of his master.  


“You'll just make yourself sick doing that,” Master said. “You won't find anything to satiate your hunger in here, but you knew that didn't you? You just don't want to accept the truth; as a vampire the only thing you can consume from now on is blood.”  


Sans's eyes fell to the floor, his breath short and fear rising in him.  


Master grinned and said, “No use denying it anymore. Don't worry, you won't miss the food. You'll find blood to be irresistible. Now, I think it's time we leave for our hunt.”

* * *

As the castle door creaked shut behind them, Sans took in his surroundings. The sky had darkened, the sun having set some time ago. Night was fast approaching, making the snow glow an eerie faint white and the trees loom dense and foreboding. Master began crossing the bridge, his footfalls crunching in the snow. He moved with ease, like he was taking a Sunday stroll.  


“Wait, Master.”  


He stopped and turned to Sans.  


“It's almost night,” Sans said.  


“Yes,” Master said in a questioning tone, as if asking what the problem was.  


“It's dangerous to walk around at night in the dead of winter.”  


“Come now, thrall. We are both skeletons. We can tolerate cold more so than most humans and monsters. And nothing can challenge two vampires in our element. This is the perfect time to go hunting. Now keep up. I'm not stopping for you again.”  


Master turned and continued down the bridge. Sans followed, crunching through the snow as he went. Master went left at the foot of the bridge and headed straight for the woods. Sans thought to object but said nothing. It wasn't long until they reached the wood and crossed the tree line. Sans glanced back at the castle, its walls becoming encased by the trees enfolding around them. Sans's frown deepened. He faced forward and told himself not to look back again.  


The silence was all encompassing. There was no breeze, no movement, no animal calls. Sans felt that the sound they made by walking through the snow was somehow rude, as though they might wake up a slumbering beast. His thoughts were broken by his foot getting caught in the hem of his dress. He caught himself before he fell and grimaced at his clothing. He had forgotten that he was wearing women's garments, and they were certainly not designed for outdoor use. He grabbed handfuls of his skirt and hiked it up, keeping his feet clear from further tripping. He blushed hotly at his stature, thankful that no one was around to see him daintily prance through the forest. The only one around was his master, who was walking far ahead of him. Sans wanted to maintain that distance to avoid conversation, or lack thereof. Though his shoes were helping with that quest a bit too well. The grip on the shoes was laughable, and he had to tread carefully just to keep from slipping. His care for balance was causing the gap between him and his master to widen. Sans groaned. His eyes fell on the footprints his master left behind just to the side of him. He hopped into the trail and matched the stride. The holes were larger than his feet, so he fit comfortably in them, and with the snow being pre-packed he felt much more stable. Sans grinned. He kept this up for a time, all his concentration on following the steps made before him. He could have run into a tree if that was where the footsteps took him. As he got into the rhythm, he could pay less attention to the holes and study the light imprints in the snow between them. Drag lines it seemed, most likely from his master's cloak. They were uneven, some lines short then ending then reappearing. A few tiny mounds of snow dotted the trail. They must have been clumps of snow that broke off from under the cloak when they got too big.  


Sans was brought from his musings when he missed a footfall. He looked up to find that the gap between footsteps had increased. Sans frowned at this, but adjusted his stride to meet them. The length teetered on the edge of what his dress would allow. Stretching his legs out in this manner was not very comfortable, but neither was the thought of his master's scolding should he fall too far behind. Suddenly, he bumped into something. Sans took a startled step back and looked up at the face of Master, who was grinning down at him.  


“Cute.”  


Sans blushed. Evidently, the stride lengthening was intended to catch Sans in the act of following his master's footsteps.  


"Practical,” Sans said.  


"Oh?"  


"Ladies shoes aren't the best for walking in snow. Just trying to make things easier. Though, I wouldn't be having such a hard time if I had my boots."  


Sans put some inflection on his latter statement, hoping to direct his master to the thought of his old gear. Master didn't take the bait, though the smirk on his face showed that he observed it.  


"I see. I'll take shorter steps then."  


Sans huffed, disappointed but not surprised, and said, "Don't trouble yourself, Master. I can handle myself."  


“Very well. Keep close to me for now. We're almost there.”  


Master continued walking, and Sans fell behind at his heels. He wondered what ‘there' was. Perhaps it was a spot to stake out game? Or maybe it had something to do with that light ahead of them. Sans squinted at it, trying to make it out. It had the color of lantern light and it flickered like a flame.  


“What is that?” Sans asked.  


“Quiet,” Master said, low but forceful.  


Sans swallowed and obeyed. He noticed his master was walking slower and he was taking pains to make his footsteps quieter. He was like a wolf stalking his prey. Sans had no idea what kind of animal would be hanging around a lantern, but he kept the question to himself and tried his best to mimic his master. As they drew near, Sans could hear a sound other than crunching snow. He strained to hear it, and he recognized it as someone digging with a shovel. Confused, he peeked around Master to see who it was. Just a few yards from them was a human woman. She stood in the ring of light cast by her lantern. She wore a simple cotton dress and her hair was up in a bun, one strand hanging over her face having come free from the labor. She dug at the ground with her shovel, tossing aside mounds of dirt. A small leather chest was at her side.  


Master paused, holding a hand up to Sans signaling him to stop. The woman had stopped shoveling. She wiped her brow. She looked over her shoulders and around her, and despite her eyes gliding over the skeletons’ location she did not see them as they were concealed in the darkness beyond the light of the lantern. She dropped the shovel and turned her attention to the chest. Master looked down at Sans and motioned with his hand to stay where he was. Then, he approached the woman, full stride, allowing his footsteps to be heard. She gasped and whipped around. Master continued to walk straight at her, much to Sans's confusion. Wouldn't he want to remain undetected?  


As Master stepped into the ring of light, the woman gasped again and stammered, “M-My Lord! I—"  


Her voice suddenly cut off, like someone gagged her. Master drew close. Sans could see her body shaking, but she didn't move, like she was frozen there. He thought back to how he couldn't move when the vampire caught him in the spire.  


“Hey, wait, what are you—” Sans began to ask.  


He stopped short when his master grabbed a fistful of the woman's hair with one hand and raised the other hand up like a claw. Master brought down that hand and the sickening sound of tearing flesh filled the stillness of the forest. Sans looked on in horror, his whole body chilled. The woman's body fell to the ground, blood pouring out of the headless neck and staining the snow red. Master held her fear-stricken head up so he could catch the streaming blood into his mouth. The blood ran down his face and onto his clothes, which already had a splatter of blood from when he landed the fatal blow.  


Knees weak, Sans fell to the ground. The scent of blood filled his senses and drowned out everything else. He held a hand to his face, trying to block it out. Once Master had his fill, he tossed the head aside and licked his teeth.  


“What's the matter, thrall? Were you not expecting this from a hunt?”  


“That wasn't hunting! You just tore that lady's fucking head off!”  


“It's faster that way. Now you can drink it. Go on.”  


Sans felt sick. He just about screamed in protest, “I am _not_ doing that!”  


Master licked the blood from his fingers, studying Sans for a moment. Then, he approached him.  


“I said no! You can't make me!”  


Out of fear, Sans crawled backwards, but the snow hindered his movements. Master kneeled, and while he wasn't touching Sans, he was close enough to tower over him and make him feel boxed in. Master grabbed Sans's chin and pulled him closer. Sans was expecting an ultimatum, not his master's blood-soaked tongue sliding into his mouth. His whole body tensed, and Sans could not pull himself away despite that tongue playing around his mouth as if Master was trying to make him form his own tongue out of arousal. Sans shut his eyes, trying to block the sight out, the smells, the violating touch, the nausea, the blood trickling down his throat.  


Then, his body pulsed. His eyes shot open the moment he went numb. His thoughts scattered like a flock of startled starlings. He fell into a void. There was nothing, but this overwhelming need, one he must satisfy lest he be consumed by the void. The need… for blood.  


The first feeling to return was the taste of blood in his mouth. But it didn't taste coppery. Bitter, and yet sweet, a sweetness he had never tasted before. It surged through his bones in an electric shock, compelled him as if it was a liquidated form of longing. And he needed more.  


Sans allowed his magic to flow to his mouth as it materialized into an ecto tongue. He closed his eyes, groping through the dark for the substance his body craved. He leaned into his master, tilting his head so his tongue could lap up every last drop of blood. Sans gulped it down, feeling a wave of fire ignite his senses. The well of sweetness was drying up, but he kept searching for more, more, more.  


Master pulled away. Sans gasped for air, panting like a wild animal. His eyes were sharp with focus, so much focus that would drown out the rest of the world. Master let go of his chin and Sans slumped over, still panting. He stood and wiped the corner of his mouth. He was sure that was Sans's drool dribbling down his face. Master couldn't contain his laugh.  


“I feel like I'm spoiling you too much. You're my thrall and here I am mouth feeding you.”  


Sans didn't respond. He hadn't moved since he was released, but his fingers twitched.  


Master leaned down to him and whispered, “Well, you know where to get more.”  


The world flooded back. Sans's eyes snapped to the still bleeding corpse lying just ahead of him. He could smell it, the scent flooding his skull with desire. He stood and shambled over to the body, his movements like a puppet on strings. In one motion, Sans fell to his knees, grasped the corpse, and sunk his fangs into the soft flesh. Blood gushed into his mouth, and he sucked it down with vigor. His gulps pierced the silence, like a distant screaming rabbit caught in a hunter's trap. He drained the body with such force that the blood pouring from the severed neck stopped then seemed to recede back into the veins. All the color faded from the skin so that it glowed in the moonlight like the snow. Sans's fingers dug into the flesh, and although they pierced through no blood came out. There was a sharp sucking noise, the sound one makes after the last drop has left the bottle. Like a bent branch snapping back into place, Sans reared back gasping for breath. His breath was hoarse and labored like a snorting boar. His eye lights trembled, his gaze blank like he was staring into the void that had held him. Slowly his eyes dilated, and his breathing calmed. His rigid body relaxed, and he had to keep himself from falling backwards.  


Master said, “Well done, thrall. Not a drop wasted. That should keep you satiated for a few days.”  


The sound of his master’s voice helped Sans regain his senses. He felt like he had had one too many drinks at the pub and blacked out, minus the hangover. The first thing he saw as he came back to himself was the decapitated body on the ground in front of him. It was ghostly white like all the blood was drained from it. No blood came from the neck, and one of the shoulder blades had two rows of puncture wounds on it. Wounds that reminded him of teeth marks. But his teeth shouldn’t have made marks like that, unless they had become sharp. Sharp like a vampire’s. A vampire consumed by the need to drink blood. A vampire like himself. His breath grew more erratic the moment he tasted the blood in his mouth. Sans began to shake, feeling his body surge with fear. For a moment the woman’s body appeared to be a gutted deer, a headless and empty carcass with blood being drained into a bucket for him to drink. He drank it. The blood was inside him. It was _inside_ him.  


Sans fell to the ground and scrambled away from the body, tearing his eyes from it. He gasped for air, though he was getting far too much of it. Cold water must have been dumped on him because his body burned, and he couldn’t move any further. What was happening? Something was wrong. It must be the blood. He shouldn’t have taken it. It had to come out. Sans throttled his midsection and wretched, trying to force himself to vomit. He choked on the air he was trying desperately to suck in because he couldn’t breathe. Only a trickle of red spit came from his mouth, but he continued to gag. The blood couldn’t stay, it made him sick, it had to come out.  


Sans clawed at his skull and screamed, “Get it out! Get it out!”  


He closed his eyes tight, wishing this wasn’t happening. It had to be a lie. It couldn’t be true; it was all so wrong. The moan of a dying man came rattling out of him. Everything hurt, his chest most of all. He needed to breathe. Sans focused on controlling his breath, and though it was still rapid, it was regular. He hugged himself, gripping at his sleeves until his fists shook. He heard ringing, though it quickly crested then ebbed away. He swallowed hard and continued panting.  


Sans flinched when something touched his shoulder blade. He whipped his head up and stared with wild eyes at the face of his master. His face was calm yet tinged with concern. Master held Sans’s gaze, his stalwart eyes acting like a rock in a raging sea. Master’s hand on his shoulder was still, and stillness seemed to radiate from it into the rest of Sans’s body. Sans’s breath slowed to where it seemed more like he did a short sprint. Master spoke in a modulated voice and as it rattled in Sans’s skull it seemed to chase away the storm in his mind.  


“Come. It’s cold out here. Let’s go home.”  


With steady movements, Master held Sans by his upper arms and helped him stand up. Sans’s legs were stiff and shaking, so Master held him there until he could stand on his own. Sans turned his head to look behind him, but Master threw his cloak around him and blocked his view. Master stood at his side, his hand on Sans’s shoulder to hold him steady, and began to walk. Sans matched his pace, more out of imitation than conscious decision. The snow crunched under them, and it wasn’t long before they left the ring of lantern light and reentered the shadowed forest.  


As they walked on, Sans’s breathing quelled. The fog having cleared from his mind, he took in his surroundings. The forest was quiet and dimly lit by moonlight. His master still held onto him, though his grip was lax. His grasp was more of a precaution than a necessity. Sans could see and smell the blood splattered on his master’s clothes, though seeing that Master was unfazed by it, Sans decided not to dwell on it. Sans looked down and noticed that Master had directed him into the trail of footprints that they created in the snow beforehand, allowing him to walk through the packed-down snow while Master had to trudge through the fresh snow.  


_‘Why is he being so gentle all of a sudden?’_ Sans thought.  


Sans looked up at his master’s face. He was focused on the path ahead of him. Not wanting to break his concentration, Sans kept quiet and stared ahead of him. His body was shaking, but not out of fear. The cold felt much more piercing than it did before. On top of that, he felt exhausted and his bones ached. Sans crossed his arms and hoped they would arrive at the castle soon. He thought about sitting in front of a fireplace and listening to it crackle. It was too cold and silent out there in the woods.

* * *

The wooden door swung open and Master led Sans into the room before closing the door behind them. A desk sat in front of a wall of curtained windows. The walls were lined with bookshelves full of leather-bound volumes. A fireplace and mantel interrupted the flow of bookshelves in the center of the wall directly across from them. The fire burned low, a heap of glowing coals with a tiny flame flickering to stay alive. This must have been the room Master was in that Sans avoided earlier during his wanderings. Master directed Sans to the couch in front of the fireplace. Sans felt bad for dragging snow and dirt over the fine oriental rug under them, but his master obviously had other priorities. Master moved the pillows against the arm of the couch.  


“Sit.”  


Sans sat down and leaned back against the cushions. Master took the fur blanket draped over the back of the couch and threw it over Sans. He then turned his attention to the fireplace. Master took the poker from the stand next to the mantel and stirred the coals around, revealing some that still burned brightly. Sans adjusted the heavy fur blanket to cover him up to his neck. He gave one more shudder as he settled himself into the cushions and waited for warmth to spread over him. He watched as Master threw a couple of logs into the fireplace and continued to shift the coals until the meek flame took hold of the new wood.  


It suddenly occurred to Sans that it felt strange being catered to by someone that enslaved him just that morning and killed a woman the same day. Something was certainly off about the whole thing and he couldn’t drop his guard due to one act of kindness. Despite the weakness in his body and his growing need to sleep, Sans steeled himself to confront his master.  


“M-Master?”  


“Yes, thrall?” Master said, his eyes still on the fire.  


“Was there… anything, erm… another way?”  


“You'll have to speak up, and more clearly.”  


“I mean was there, just— did that woman have to die?”  


“She would have died regardless.”  


“What?”  


“It was your first feeding. You saw yourself what happened when you tasted blood for the first time. You lost control of yourself and drained her dry. I knew it would be impossible to moderate your consumption, so I took it upon myself to place the death on my own hands. That way you would not place blame on yourself. I had meant to soften the blow for you, but it seems like it didn’t help.”  


“Well, yeah. You just confirmed that she died because of me. If I didn’t need blood, she would still be alive.”  


“I suppose you could still blame me for that. Afterall, if I had not turned you then you would not need blood to live.”  


Sans stared back in confusion. Was that empathy his master was displaying?  


Master sighed and said, “Though I had no idea you would have such a violent reaction to the whole affair. If I had known you were so unstable, I would have thought twice about enthralling you.”  


Sans frowned. So much for the nice act. Though what could he expect from the arrogant vampire that enthralled him?  


“Well sorry for being a damaged product,” Sans retorted. “We can’t all be perfect.”  


“I suppose not. Well, it can’t be helped now.”  


Master replaced the iron poker, stood, and got into an armchair next to the fireplace. Being across from each other, they could look each other in the eye, though Sans couldn’t hold his gaze and watched the fire instead. They sat in silence for a moment, the fire beginning to crackle.  


“I’m not doing it again,” Sans said.  


“Pardon?”  


“I'm not going to hurt others just so I can _feed,_ ” Sans said, placing malice on the word feed.  


“I would drop that foolish sense of morality right now. You need to drink blood to survive.”  


“But does it have to come from people? Can’t I just drink animal blood or something?”  


“It’s not the blood itself that you need, thrall. You know that.”  


“What do you mean?”  


Master hummed in thought. “You were a bounty hunter. Tell me what you know of your quarry.”  


Sans looked up at him and thought for a moment. “Well, if you want to make money as a bounty hunter you have to hunt Immortums. Immortums are stronger than normal monsters, and as their name suggests they are immortal. Humans can’t become Immortums, and even though their souls are more powerful than a monster’s soul they still can’t match the power of a monster turned Immortum. Bounties are put on Immortums because they thrive from the suffering of others: negative emotions, disease, war. They could be relatively harmless if they feed off the negative energy in the area, but the ones that consume flesh or blood are the most dangerous, and the ones with the highest paying bounties. Just a few jobs could set a hunter for life, maybe give them enough money to start another business or buy better gear for more risky bounties. There are so many kinds of Immortums that it’s hard to keep track, but they all cause suffering and I figured I was doing the world a favor by taking some out.”  


Master nodded. “You only have some of the whole picture. What Immortums are looking for in that suffering is mal magic.”  


“Mal magic?”  


Master stood up and went to the fireplace. He took what looked like a long-handled pan from the tool stand along with a coal shovel and turned his attention to the fire as he spoke.  


“Mal magic is the corruption of a being's magical energy. Immortums feed on that energy to sustain themselves, something no other living creature can do. All magic is a reflection of the soul, the culmination of one's being. The soul's traits determine the type of magic that is dispelled. Outside forces can alter the soul, such as suffering, greed, violence, fear, or hatred. All these forces can corrupt a soul like a toxin, and when the soul changes, so does it's magic. As you should know, humans and monsters possess souls, but animals do not, at least not to the degree that would allow magic outpouring. That is why you cannot rely on animals to sustain yourself.”  


Master shoveled choice coals into the pan and closed the hinged lid before standing upright again.  


“Still, it feels wrong to hurt others just so I can—”  


Master lifted the corner of the fur blanket and went to place the pan underneath. Sans recoiled mid-sentence.  


“Whoa!”  


Master froze. “What?”  


“What are you doing?!”  


“I'm trying to warm you up.”  


“There's hot coals in there!”  


“Well then don't kick it.”  


Master placed the pan on the end of the sofa and draped the blanket over it. Sans kept his feet a safe distance away as he eyed the lump under the blanket. He could feel warmth radiating from it and enveloping him. After it came across in his mind that the coals weren't going to leap out and attack him, he uncurled his body. He looked up at Master, who was watching from his armchair, head propped on his hand.  


“Do I have to… kill people?” Sans asked.  


“No. It is possible to take only what you need, but it requires control over yourself, and you do not possess that level of control yet. You are not a monster anymore, you are an Immortum. And with your new body comes new instincts that you must navigate. Your hunger for blood is like a starving dog about to devour its own kind. The need for survival is so powerful that the mind goes numb and enters a void while the body takes over. You must learn to see through the void, accept the sensations guiding your body as a means to cross the blackness. By becoming a spectator of your own body, you can take back control. Think of it as pulling the strings of a puppet when you are both the puppet and the puppeteer.”  


Sans frowned and stared at the floor.  


“You cannot be afraid of yourself,” Master said. “Fear paralyzes you, and you must face your instincts if you want to remain as yourself.”  


“How many people are going to die before I figure this out?”  


“That is up to you.”  


Sans gripped the blanket.  


“Do you ever feel bad when you feed?” Sans asked.  


“What good is guilt and shame towards something that can’t be changed? I was made this way, to survive on the blood of others. They’ve called me a parasite, a mindless beast, the embodiment of sin. I will never be anything more than feared and hated. Why should I show sympathy to a world that has none for me?”  


Sans paused in thought, then said, “Still, you have thoughts and feelings like everyone else.”  


“What makes you think that?”  


“Well, you turned me, and I still do.”  


Master studied Sans a moment. Sans could see a glimmer of sadness in his gaze.  


Master replied, “Well, you’ll find that those feelings only get in the way.”  


Sans went to speak but said nothing. There was a weight behind what his master had said that he felt it best not to question his statement. Was it experience? How long had his master lived as a vampire? Was there a chance that it had been hard on him? He seemed so pompous before that it was hard to tell. Sans never gave any thought to how it felt to live as an Immortum, and now fate had decided that he would find out himself. The thought scared him: his life could either be an unbearable eternity, or a short year of being hunted down. His only hope of living a somewhat normal life rested in the hands of his master, who up until now treated him like a plaything, and it was likely to go back to that treatment. His future did not look bright. Thinking about it exhausted him, more so than how his body felt. His limbs were drifting off into a numbed state, and Sans realized his eyes were closed. He could hear the fire snapping and crackling in the distant corner of his mind. He could have roused himself, but he decided not to. He would’ve only spent his time awake causing himself more stress. Sleep would do him well. Just sleep now and take on the challenges that awaited him when he was rested.


End file.
